Of Emperors and Empires
by LovingthesuninSA
Summary: The nations and their rulers had ties no one else could understand.
1. Chapter 1-Friedrich

**Something a bit different, I guess? These stories will focus on some nations and their rulers throughout time, and this is the first part of the Prussia and Friedrich story... I'm trying to stick to the facts because I'm a history nerd but I'll have to take a few liberties with the characters...**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Friedrich II, King of Prussia

–-

He can't remember the first time he sees the strange young man walking beside his father. He can only remember, from a young age, being conscious that somehow, this one person had managed to get his father to respect him. He guesses that's why he disliked him at first. No one was close to his father, and Friedrich himself was probably the last in line to be. But here the stranger was, laughing and nudging the King, who merely rolled his eyes. Anyone else would've been thrown into prison.

–-

Even now, there's one time he can clearly remember from his youth, when he was sitting, around six or so, at the piano, trying to play something. He thinks it was to impress his father, for once. He can't remember that part. He does remember, though, his father walking past and stopping, the stranger at his side, and telling him: "You see the heir to the throne? It's pathetic. Playing the piano..." The warrior king had shook his head in disgust, and added: "If only he would at least try and fight as much as he tries to act like a woman."

The king had marched on, not sparing his son a glance. The young man had snickered, turned towards the prince and added: "He's right, you know. Piano is for sissies." The double hit of having his father scorn him (as usual) and this stranger mock him had been too much, and Friedrich had felt himself start to cry.

The other, who had been about to leave, saw him, paused, and walked towards him. "Hey, c'mon. Don't cry. That's for sissies too. But I'll tell ya what: piano might be for sissies, but I never said anything about flutes." He dug a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small silver flute, and pressed it into the boy's hand, red eyes glistening. Before either could say anything, though, the king slammed open the door once more. "Preußen! What are you doing?" The newly named Preußen had whipped around, raising his hand in a mock salute, and replied: "I was merely telling the Crown Prince to avoid the piano...sir." The King grunted in suspicion, then turned and left. The red eyed soldier went after him, winking at the dumbfounded Prince in question before he exited.

–-

He spends his childhood being trained as a soldier. His father, from age six, ensures he is woken by the sound of a cannon, and gives him his own troop of cadets to command. The king also writes a precise list of instructions for him to follow every day, which he reads attentively, hoping in vain for some trace of affection. "On Sunday he is to rise at seven. As soon as he has his slippers on he shall kneel at the bed and say a short prayer to God loud enough for all present to hear [..]. After which, the Lord's Prayer. Then speedily and with all despatch he shall dress and wash himself, be queued and powdered; and getting dressed as well as breakfast - tea, which is to be taken while the valet is making his queue and powdering him - shall be finished and done in a quarter of an hour, that is, by a quarter past seven..." He tries pleasing his father by training whenever he can, because he knows his father is the Warrior King, and he knows that his father dislikes him, but Friedrich Wilhelm only notices him when he does something wrong. His treatment is rendered much worse by the fact that August Wilhelm, his younger brother, is adored by their father, who sometimes spends ten minutes kissing and cuddling him, when he has spent the previous ones beating Friedrich. He loves his mother, though, as she laughs about her husband and lets Friedrich hide behind her screens when the King is enraged. But she is a silly, volatile woman, who doesn't really notice her children, and so is only ever a vaguely comforting presence.

"Every day here we go through the most unutterable scenes. I am so tired of it all. I would rather beg my bread than go on living like this." Friedrich tells his sister later.

–-

It's a day like so many other when he gets thrown off the bolting horse. He's trying to ride it, but it's clearly temperamental, and when it bolts wildly he can' t help it. He crashes to the ground, rolling out of harm's way and standing up as quickly as he can, ignoring the burning pain, but it's too late. His father grabs him and drags him inside, then beats him, shouting about his incapability to do anything right. He catches a glimpse of the pale man outside as he grabs the horse and calms him, and wishes with all his might they could swap places.

The same thing happens when his father sends him out with the sentry. It's freezing, and he is teetering on the edge of his feet, nearly knocked over by the cold. His hands are burning more than anything, and he feels like sawing them off to stop it. Instead, he grabs some gloves and pulls them onto his numb hands, near to tears. His father comes in, of course, and beats him for being a coward. Friedrich stops hoping for affection then.

–-

He avoids his father as he grows into his teenage years, going to great lengths to avoid him. His father is known to be quite ill, and he can go completely insane at times. His temper is only getting worse; he hits out blindly at everyone, and when he sees his eldest son he grabs him by the throat and throws him to the floor.

Friedrich goes on with his military studies, but he also receives a good education. He particularly enjoys literature and music, managing to sneak in thousands of poems against his father's orders. He spends his days training and his free time reading.

It's about this time that he really starts noticing the one his father calls Preußen.

–-

He is about fifteen when at some ceremony he sees the pale young man at his father's side (as always) and it suddenly hits him. _Young man. _He stares at him incredulously, because it's true: in the fifteen years of his life, the man hasn't aged one bit. He was about twenty when he first saw him, and he looks exactly the same. Friedrich knows some people don't look like they age, but it's more than a decade later, and there's no difference about the albino.

Sitting in front of his desk that night, he can't concentrate on the poems he is reading. Who _is _the man? The mysterious stranger his father seems to love so much, who hasn't aged one bit in the Prince's entire life? Him, with his queer red eyes and white hair, with an aura of arrogance and nobility about him...And the name, _Preußen_. It's their kingdom's name, Preußen, and obviously a nickname, but why would Friedrich Wilhelm call anyone that? He doesn't know, has no idea.

He tries to think of an explanation, but doesn't find one. There's not only his age and name in question, but also his role. He isn't a counsellor, or a bodyguard, because Friedrich has observed him: he is reckless, loud, confident, sharp, and sarcastic, none of which his father likes. The Crown Prince's ideas become stranger and stranger as he starts tiring and the last thing he thinks of before falling asleep is that perhaps this Preußen is a demon.

–-

He spends the next week trying to pry information out of everyone, and is astounded to learn that no one seems to know anything either. The only one who seems to know something is his mother, who laughs and fans herself and tells him to ask "the boy". The aura of mystery only intensifies, but Friedrich refuses to ask his father, and he isn't about to march up to the man and demand answers, either. So he tries to push it to the back of his mind, hoping vaguely to learn the truth about him one day.

–-

–-

He stands, sick with anxiety, as the counsellors look at him with mixed expressions. He has never been so terrified in his entire life. It's so stupid, he thinks angrily, but it changes nothing. He looks left, quickly, to find Katte at his side, who tries to smile reassuringly. He feels a pang of agony, looks away, clenching his jaw. The others got through to England, yes, _Gott sei Dank_, but Katte...Hans had tried to dissuade him at first, telling it was too dangerous to run, but Friedrich had insisted, repeating tales of his father's insanity, citing the marriage he was nearly forced into, telling him, in short, that death was the only other option. His friend had given in then, and helped him plot the escape to Britain, where he could get help from his uncle, who had never liked Friedrich Wilhelm...But now he was caught, with Hans beside him, and surely, surely...As his father steps into the room, he knows he is going to die.

–-

The axe falls swiftly, and Hans Hermann Von Katte's head falls to the ground. Blood splatters on the Crown Prince's shirt, and he feels time stop, leaving him standing, feeling the world crash and collapse around him. He meets his father's eye; and there is a gleam of satisfaction that makes everything so much more unbearable that the world goes black.

–-

He sits in the prison cell, unmoving. He has recovered from the illness after Katte's death, and now he feels only numbness. He has accepted his fate. He will die. He knows it. He's been accused of treason by his father, and now he will die. And he knows it is today they will tell him, because he's translated the whispers of the guards. When he sees the King enter the building, he knows. So he leans back, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and wishing he could hug Wilhelmina. To his surprise, however, shouting can be heard from downstairs. "...I WILL NOT ACCEPT THEIR DECISION! IT IS MY KINGDOM, AND I SHALL DO AS I WISH!" Friedrich Wilhelm sounds demented, and his son sits confused.

"You can't go against the Imperial Diet unless you want to be kicked out of the Holy Roman Empire." A second voice interferes.

Friedrich recognizes it as his father's counsellor. He frowns. The Imperial Diet...? He feels his heart suddenly thudding. Of course! His father can't kill him, or force him off the throne, because-! He forces himself to calm down, to not raise his hopes. As if to confirm his pessimism, the king shouts again: "THEN WE WILL BREAK OFF FROM THE EMPIRE! WE ARE STRONG!"

Before Friedrich can think of anything, however, a third, younger, infuriated voice joins them: "LISTEN HERE, OLD MAN! IF YOU TOUCH A HAIR ON THAT KID'S HEAD I WILL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU WILL NEVER REIGN AGAIN!" The king sounds just as taking aback as everyone else feels, but he recovers and roars: "YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME? YOU FOOL! I CAN TAKE YOU DOWN!" "STOP BLUFFING! YOU WOULDN'T BE ANYTHING WITHOUT ME! AND IF YOU WANT TO PLAY THAT WAY? THEN BE MY GUEST!", the voice snaps back. The unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn reaches his ears, and there's a definite hesitation in the king's voice now: "You...you wouldn't dare..." "I WOULD dare, Friedrich, and you know that very well. Aren't you supposed to be the warrior king? You should recognize that the nation of Prussia is the strongest military force on the surface of the planet...stronger even than it's kings." The voice barely utters the last words, but the silence is so strong that Friedrich is able to hear every word. He realises that this is the perfect moment to convince his father, the last chance, so he urges him on. _Go on! Convince him! _He thinks desperately. By some miracle, the voice goes on: "Listen, separating from the Empire is a stupid idea. Is your son really worth bringing down our empire? Let him be. I'll handle him if he's troublesome." Friedrich hears his father speak back, and there's a definite sneer in his voice: "Yes, you'll handle your precious prince if he forces his pathetic self onto my life's work...Well, the best of luck with that!"

He's not going to kill me, the young prince thinks, sliding to the floor. He's not going to kill me.

"I only have the nation's best interests at heart." the voice interjects smoothly. "You mean your interests." the king snaps. There is a laugh, and he hears something like "Isn't that the same thing?" from the voice. From the way the king snorts, Friedrich can tell he'd be amused if he wasn't in a foul mood. Really, he thinks numbly, the voice was lucky that the king came in at this moment, when his insanity was receding slightly. Lucky, yes...Or very smart. Before he can continue musing, however, he hears the footsteps approaching, and he jumps to his feet, straightening his back in a reflex he can't help. The door swings open, and his father's glare nearly makes him dive to the floor, begging forgiveness. But he is stronger than his father thinks, so he stands, jaw firmly in place, awaiting his sentence. "You can rot in prison until someone makes me free you. Thank your protector for that." With the brief message, the King is gone, and his entourage remain in front of the door, before following him out. But while they turn, the prince spots _him_ there, and he _knows _suddenly that _he _was the voice. "Wait!" he manages, and the man pauses, turning towards him, eyebrows raised. "T-thank you," he stutters out, wanting to say more but unable to do so. His saviour eyes him, slightly surprised, then smirks fleetingly, before adding: "You're not nearly as bad as your father thinks, kid. Remember that." He turns and leaves, and Friedrich breathes out. There's still light at the end of the tunnel.

–-

The 31 of May 1740, his father dies. He leaves for the palace immediately. The freedom he had is over, then. The friends he had, the art and poetry, the ambience of Sanssouci...It's over, now. He knew it wouldn't last. Well, those were the best years of his 28 year life, and he's happy to have had them.

It's hard to fit in with his family. August is visibly affected, and his mother is pale and ill. Even his other siblings look touched. He doesn't feel anything as he stares at the dead body of his father.

He's king, now, he realises suddenly. A wave of panic hits him. King. King of the nation of Prussia. Reigning over all the people. In charge of it all. King.

He freezes when a hand touches his shoulder, and spins around to stare into a pair of scarlet eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the object of his childhood wonders.

"I think I owe you a few explanations."

–-


	2. Chapter 2-Gilbert

**This part is basically the happy part of the story (the first while after the two meet), so it's a bit different, as well as set during a shorter amount of time. Also, Prussia's POV.**

–-

The prince-he's a king now, he reminds himself-casts a look at his family, then nods, following him out of the room. Prussia looks at him curiously. He doesn't look saddened by his father's death, but it's understandable under the circumstances. The warrior king did some cool stuff, but raising his son was not one of his feats. The _king _is waiting for him to say something, obviously, so he clears his throat. "Uh, right, so-Ah, screw it, I hate speeches. Why don't you just ask me stuff, OK?" The other blinks, furrows his brow, then asks: "What's your name?"

The albino grins, and replies: "I've had a bunch of names, but I guess if you're talking human-wise it'd be Gilbert Beilschmidt." Friedrich's brows shoot up, and he asks dryly: "Implying that you're _not _human?"

"Not one bit!", Prussia replies cheerfully. The younger-older?- man looks taken aback.

"Then what are you?" he asks, and though he obviously doesn't believe him, Prussia can see he's serious. He pretends to be thinking seriously, then answers:"For now, I would be _Königreich Preußen_. But before that I was Brandenburg-Prussia, and before that I was the Duchy of Prussia, and before that Royal Prussia, and before that the _Orden der Brüder vom Deutschen Haus Sankt Mariens in Jerusalem, _or Teutonic Knights, if you prefer."

Friedrich blinks, then scowls. „If you don't want to tell me-" he starts, before being cut off. „You don't believe me? Fine! They never do! But it's true, and I can prove it if you want! Ask me anything about this country!"

Friedrich bristles, clearly thinking he knows something Prussia doesn't. „When my father was a child," he starts, „He was so stubborn that he once swallowed what?"

Prussia laughs. „A buckle! I remember that! Ha! The kid was so stubborn he refused to spit it out! He drove poor Anna crazy!" Friedrich looks surprised, having obviously believed he was the only one to know this. „You could've heard that from the older counsellors." he mutters.

Prussia groans. This conversation is so old by now.

"Okay, okay! Let me tell you about your _Opa_!" And so he recites the old man's entire life history, relishing the way the other's eyes widen incredulously. There is a silence when he pauses for breath, and they stare at each other for a moment.

Friedrich starts slowly: "So...if, hypothetically, I believed you...Then what?" Prussia grins.

"Then I guess I'd just make sure you take care of the awesome me, yeah?" Friedrich snorts.

"You don't think too lowly of yourself." "I don't see any reason to, and you better not change that, m'kay?" the nation replies. "Indeed." Friedrich says, a smile creeping onto his face, and Prussia has a feeling that this guy might just be awesome.

–-

He wakes him up every day by jumping on his bed. At first the new king seems basically stunned by the sheer idiocy of the project, but hey, better than cannons, right? When Prussia tells him this, Friedrich is surprised by how much he remembers. Prussia just laughs and calls him "kid". When Friedrich replies that he's twenty-eight now, Prussia retorts that _he'_s five hundred, and has all the rights to call him kid. From then on the king resigns himself to his fate.

–-

They bicker a lot, over a large range of things, and Bavaria tells Prussia they sound like an old married couple. Prussia badmouths "those southern idiots" and Bavaria lunges at him. When Friedrich gets there there's a fully-fledged brawl going on, with Hesse trying to calm them and Saxony just throwing things at them. He lectures Prussia about fighting, and Prussia calls him weak, and they start bickering again.

The fights never last long, though, and they never get too angry, so it's fine. Friedrich rather enjoys the bickering, sometimes, Prussia can tell. And he's Prussia, so he loves any kind of fight.

–-

Fritz, as Prussia has now baptised him, is very interested in everything.

They sit and talk in the evenings, which for the battle-thirsty nation is a first; and his new ruler wants to hear about it all. Prussia isn't used to the rulers wanting to hear about him, but he's always confident (that stupid Austria would say he's an arrogant imbecile, but no one care what he says), so he loves telling his stories.

Fritz is sharp, too; when Prussia starts exaggerating his exploits or sugar-coating his failures, he fixes him until the nation confesses. He doesn't mind too much, because Friedrich doesn't mock him, and seems to genuinely _like him. _Prussia can't think of anyone else who does.

So he talks, and Fritz listens, and it's actually pretty nice.

–-

Friedrich is particularly interested in the other countries, Prussia can tell. He doesn't ask much about them at first, probably deeming it a bit rude; but as they grow closer he starts asking more. "So tell me about the nations," he requests one night, sitting straighter in his chair. "Whaddya wanna know?" Prussia asks, from where he's lounging on the sofa.

"Are there many others? What are they like? Do you have families? Since when were you there? What happens when you die? How do you age? Do you see each other often? Can you-"

The ruby-eyed man laughs, cutting off the stream of questions. "Woah, hold your horses! One at a time, please!" The king smiles, slightly abashed.

Prussia breathes out slowly. _Gott_, this kid...

"So...other countries, right? Yeah, there are a bunch..." So he tells him of the countries he knows, from England to Spain to Denmark to Russia to Ottoman to Egypt to China, and all those in between, giving brief descriptions of them all. "But there are many others I haven't met yet, course.", he adds with a shrug. Friedrich's eyes are shining with amusement, and he looks delighted. "That's a lot of people." he points out.

Prussia scoffs. "Doesn't mean I like all of them." Friedrich nods pensively: "Just like with humans, I guess." He turns towards him again. "Who _do _you like?"

Good question, the albino thinks, and realises he's said it out loud. Friedrich laughs (he has a kid's laugh, Prussia thinks) and adds: "Right, let me reformulate that: Who are your friends?"

That's even worse, Prussia thinks, and replies, rather edgily: "We don't really have 'em. It's kill or be killed."

Seeing the other's dismayed expression, he quickly adds: "But I guess Francis and Toni. Uh, France and Spain." Friedrich leans forwards, excited: "France?" Something akin to jealousy makes him want to rip the Frenchman's hair out, but he forces himself to answer: "Yeah. But don't expect me to sing his praises. We're friends cause we get each other, and we get that if we have to fight we will. If I had to kill Francis I would. And if he had to kill me he would. We just have some kind of agreement to not...I dunno. Be unfair about it or something. No backstabbing."

Friedrich frowns slightly, and Prussia sighs. "It's complicated, I know. Forget it. It's kinda..." He searches for words. "Like, we help each other survive? We start off so many countries and kingdoms and states and you have to fight to make it, you know? So we fight, and each time we go up one level, and there's less chance of us just...fading away. I-it's complicated." He finishes lamely, but Fritz nods anyway, and Prussia has a feeling he _gets _it. He feels slightly embarrassed, though, because that was all very emotional for someone like him, and pfft, he sounds like Francis.

"Uh, right, so families?" he asks quickly, because there's a gleam of understanding in his ruler's eyes which he doesn't want there. No pity!

Fritz nods, and Prussia continues: "Well, uh, we all have some kind of parent, but we don't necessarily get to know them...We basically kinda stay small until we really become potential nations, and then we grow until we reach, like, our "twenties". If you start fading or shit, you age a bit too. But anyway, yeah. My father would be Germania, and I can't tell you much about him except that he was stereotypically German, with the angry poker face and all that." He pulls a face to prove his point, and Fritz laughs (a sound which the nation relishes). "Now, believe it or not, but Germania was a way bigger womanizer than Rome was-with nations, at least. He had me, those idiots Austria and Bavaria, Hesse, Saxony, Brandenburg, Holstein, Holy Roman, that angry kid, that baby kid, those three that don't really consider them selves part of the family-ya know, Netherlands, blonde chick and mini-France?-, Sweden, Denmark, Norge, uh, that's all?"

"All?" Friedrich asks, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought I had many siblings."

Prussia bursts out laughing, and manages to avoid the death issue for the while being.

–-

Prussia knows it's stupid, but he hates it when Fritz talks about France. Friedrich is a big fan of French culture, and the way he talks you'd think Francis is some kind of god. He asks a lot about him, and Prussia spits out insult after insult about his long-time foe. Fritz doesn't seem to register them, though, and merely continues telling his charge about the many merits of the French.

Prussia feels an angry boiling in the pit of his stomach, and recognises it as jealousy. He hates being jealous, because he knows that he is far superior than Francis. Francis! And that Racine guy, who spends so much time with his king...He's an idiot. Prussia can tell. No good. Rubbish.

Friedrich just shoots him a tired yet affectionate glance, and Prussia feels his cheeks colouring in anger and embarrassment. Damn the French!

–-

France, on the other hand, is very amused by Prussia's treasured king being such a big fan. He swallows his amusement when the Prussia presents him with the threat of never engaging in any kind of "activity" ever again if he offends Friedrich in any way. When Friedrich enters the palace, the first thing he sees is Francis, lounging in the door frame, who immediately bows with many frills and addresses the king: "My liege."

They discuss poetry and art and music, and the Frenchman is astounded that someone from "such a rough, barbaric nation" could be so educated in the fine arts. Friedrich laughs, and replies that he can't deny the "rough barbaric nation" has style. When the time to depart arrives, after a few days of pleasant discussion, the nation of love enters the king's room to find him standing at the window, fixing the outside with a cryptic expression. Francis walks to him, but he guesses from the shouts below what Friedrich is looking at. "._..Sei still, du-_!" _Clang. _"_Nein, nein, ich soll nicht_!"_Clang. _He looks over the king's shoulder at Prussia, who is duelling three of the younger soldiers, laughing. The three boys are fighting hard, and yet do not manage to do much against the militaristic nation. "V_ous savez, Monsieur, n'y prenez pas offense...Mais le pays qui m'est le __plus cher reste le mien._" Friedrich says, not looking upwards. France merely nods, feeling rather fond of his long time "bad friend" for once. "_C'est étonnant, mais pour une fois je vous comprends._" he replies smoothly. Friedrich laughs lightly, looks up the blonde man, and tells him: "_Quand je serai parti, gardez un oeil sur lui, s'il vous plaît._" He pats his shoulder lightly, then leaves the slightly astounded Frenchman behind as he exits the room. Francis stares at his retreating back, feeling vaguely childish for the first time in a while, then chuckles. He's got to admit; in this aspect, _la_ _Prusse _definitely has style.

–-

Not very long after that, the wars start.

–-

**Cliff hanger again, woops ^^;**

**I swear I didn't mean to! But yes, next chapter is going to be more angsty and war-y than this one.**

**Also, for the sibling thing, Austria, Prussia, Germany, HRE, Bavaria, Hesse, Brandenburg, Saxony, Holstein, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, and Sweden are all Germania's official offspring. Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg are also thought to canonically be his children (which would make sense given their history) but they would've nearly never seen him (especially the latter two seeing as they're also half French), and seeing as Sweden, Denmark and Norway are brothers, it would make sense that they're related. _Woah, long rant! _**

**Okay, translation time:**

**Konigreich Preußen: Kingdom of Prussia**

**Order : Teutonic Knights**

**Opa: grampa**

**Gott: God**

**Sei still, du: Be quiet, you!**

**Nein, nein, ich soll nicht: No, no, I won't!**

**Vous savez, Monsieur (..) le mien: You know, sir, don't take offense, but the country I cherish the most is still my country.**

**C'est (..) comprends: It's astonishing but for once I understand that.**

**Quand je serai(..) lui: When I'm gone, keep an eye on him, please!**

**La Prusse: Prussia**

**Reviews are my life O.O**

**See you next chapter!**


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